Being tougher might have been kinder
Maybe I could have been kinder to myself
I could have seen the end before it happened
But suspended, I gave myself just too much rope
Was it the rough ride that life had bled for you
Did my chase relent to eventually embrace you
Being tougher might have been kinder
We could have been kinder to ourselves
We could have seen the end before it happened
Suspended, each kept on giving just too much rope
A little sad reflection
Fifteen years ago this day
In the land of Mr Pye
Building castles in the sand
The horse drawn carriage beckoned
Children’s bonnets and the sun cream for protection
Protection needed you had reckoned
On this island free, free to begin, to begin to dream
We wandered up towards the headland station
We gazed the azure blue over to France
This was our first vacation
A consolidation of subterfuge romance
Laying in the meadow dozing
Clumps of Jasmine beneath the peregrine by chance
Laying on the meadow headland dozing
Taking photos of sparrows doing their ‘flutter dance’
We’d travelled on the hydro foil of Condor
Sat on the deck in Channel Island sunshine
The light of lightness being longer
Holding hands in some pave crazed expectation line
We had the corner table
The restaurant was first class
The girls glowed at the attention
And you glowed at their sass
We played some games a little later
Scrabble, and cards; was it Twist or was it Fish
Oh so happy, even before our consummation
We were feeling, feeling lovingly rich
And when we had returned
The photographs cannot lie
I was caught adrift and snoozing
You as ever, were camera, camera shy
Now it’s another May Day holiday
An island by the name of Kos
No longer at one together; here tonight without you
Remembering what, oh what on earth it is we’ve lost
She wrote me a letter
Talked of garlands and May
Walk with me through the meadow
Tread with me softly, she did say
I replied in stuttering staccato
Struck a strangers chord, with echo and delay
Your kindness, gentle, finds and swamps me
I’m sinking fast, I did say
She wrote such words that turned me
Talked of where, and when we’d play
Talked with me so full of passion
She’d twist the vine with me, she did say
I replied by post, almost rolled over
Searching deep for every word
Your passion fever, finds and haunts me
My writing is past, you’ll find I did say
A quiet conversation
A silent contemplation
Wind-chimes, slow days
Passages in time
Wind, blowing sweet softly
Sage, rosemary and thyme
A quiet conversation
Morning light morning
A silent contemplation
Morning light morning
Holding hands
On Giants Causeway
Footprints wander this way
In the sand
A quiet conversation
A silent contemplation
A quiet conversation
Morning light morning
Trickling stream
Over bouldered rock
Poppy, fetlock
Gaze over the meadow
A silent contemplation
Morning light morning
Other Men’s words
The kerbstones that I’ve misplaced
Searching their words, for rhyme or reason
Staining seasons passed, it’s now clearer space
Gravestones and epitaphs
Inscriptions defy descriptions, of the words I’m after
Gathering spontaneity, picking grave to grave
A kaleidoscopic conversation, a generation saved
The lilacs and the bluebells, cards from Mrs May
Carpets of bluebells, thorns and lilies; far away days
Of all the deaths you’ve told and listened
All the bouquets you’ve pondered and passed
You’ve read other men’s words
Passed their pasts, into some unknown future place
Searched their faces for rhyme or reason
Staining seasons passed, a new ‘to begin’ space
Footnote
The first poem in trying to break away from the poetry of the past, that morning I’d written a few words of closure (however temporary) on a past relationship, I’d read a little of Adrian Henry, and halfway through typing up the poem Mr Van Morrison came along, singing of Madame George. The following 24 poems are from a vacation in Kos immediately after this idea to change.
